OUR college life is a caricature of the social life of the world. The candidate for social position dares not offend the society which confers that position; so he becomes a lackey dressed in the livery of the society, the exact counterpart of every other society man in both dress and opinions. There is Snobling, for instance, - a cigarette-rolling Sophomore. Ask him what he thinks about admitting women to Harvard. I can vouch that his answer will be:-

"Why, they ought to come of course."

"Why so?"

"O, all the fellows say so."

"But I don't say so."

"You don't say so? Look here, what a queer; fellow you are! Why, public opinion says so." And off goes Snobling with supreme contempt for all who dare to disobey the dictates of public opinion.

Public opinion says so. Whose opinion is that, pray? If Snobling and you and I and the rest of us do not make public opinion here at Harvard, why, who does? Who are the authorities whose opinions are so valuable that they are adopted by all those who have no opinions of their own?

A stranger would naturally suppose that the students of most character and intelligence control the opinions of the college, and so they do to a certain extent; but too many of them exert an influence only over the few who are like themselves, and when they find that they have no power over the know-nothing element they are inclined to form a mutual-admiration society for the exchange of their valuable opinions.

The Freshmen think that the college papers are the originators of opinions. Poor deluded Freshmen! Public opinion, far from being the offspring of the papers, is their master; and, like Sindbad's "Old Man of the Sea," is riding them to death. If they could shake it off, they might stand up straight and grow strong. As it is, they scold vigorously at the instructors and the "marking-system," but turn their backs when some wrong appears at which the majority wink.

No, it is not the college paper nor every intelligent student that moulds the opinion of the college; the influential person is he who is called the "popular man." Our college life is like a circus, - a modern circus with many horses and several clowns. The popular man is the dazzling bareback rider; the rest of us are the horses and the clowns. Round and round walk the clowns, - round and round the ring go the horses, - up in the air goes the rider. Applause!

So it is with our life here. And perhaps it is well that it is so. Perhaps it is well that Doolittle and Carelittle and little Fawner, who have no opinions of their own, should adopt Swellington's opinions. Swellington would not be a popular man if his opinions were not worth having. But what a responsibility he has! He is probably a noble fellow, but is he always as guarded in his conduct as a student whose opinion becomes public opinion should be? Does he remember that every act of his will be imitated by a score of his admirers? For instance, it is Gosling's private opinion that he ought not to drink, and also that he does not like the taste of liquor; but if he hears that Swellington has been "jolly drunk," he will straightway get miserably drunk and will brag about it for the rest of the year. Perhaps we can pity Swellington if he is fond of liquor; but we have only contempt for Gosling. If all our popular men would realize as fully as many of them do, the trust which their popularity confers upon them, there would be no college reform which they might not accomplish.